In a fury, John growled and sped away. He could hear the baker calling out to him from the open doorway of the shop, but he would not stop. Not for man and not for a werewolf.
He was soon out of town, the bread loaf tucked against his side underneath the coat to stay warm. The heady scent of rain had descended over the area less than an hour ago, and he knew that a shower was soon to come.
He found Annalette by the riverside, tossing stones into the water from where she sat on the shore. She didn’t turn to see him coming, but if she had, the Romani woman would have seen the distressed look in his eye.
“Why didn’t you tell me that your money wouldn’t be accepted?”
Annalette looked up, her face alive with puzzlement. “The baker wouldn’t take the galbi?”
John pulled out the loaf and handed it to her. “Be glad that he was another loup-garou, or he might not have been so generous.”
She slowly took the bread from him. “Another loup-garou? I didn’t realize…”
John loomed over her, casting a shadow over her. Somehow, he didn’t believe her. He had learned to tell the difference between the truth and a falsehood. “How did he know who I was? Is it the way I smell? Something in my manners?”
Annalette tore off a portion of the loaf and smiled to herself. “I’m sure your manners would need improving after wandering in the forest for a century.”
“Do not toy with me, woman!” he raised his voice, feeling a bit of his composure slip as his world was sent spiraling into a realm of uncertainty from which he couldn’t begin to find his way back. “What was it? How did he know?”
She looked to him without fear or anger. “Did you not feel what he was? My uncle described it as if someone had pierced his skull, but it wasn’t painful. Did you feel that?”
John sighed and tried to put back his mild discontent. He felt as if he had been plunged into a situation for which he was unprepared, and it was all Annalette’s fault. “In a way, I did. But I’ve never felt it before.”
“Then that was your first time meeting another loup-garou. Congratulations.” She took a ravenous bite of the bread and chewed it with all the flair of a female with a distinct deficiency in etiquette.
“And he made his eyes turn gold, but he didn’t become as a beast. How did he do that?”
Annalette answered with her mouth full. “It takes practice. He might be as old as you are, perhaps younger.” She swallowed. “If a loup-garou has proper training, they can control the wolf well enough to let it show on command.”
John knelt to her, his hands out in a beseeching way. “Show me. Train me. Help me control this beast.”
He had never been a proud man, but the last century had taught him to not trust another soul for fear of being hanged as a witch or turned away as a condemned soul. He did not rely on anyone besides himself, but when he saw how the baker had such command over the beast, he knew that he could no longer live his life that way. He had to learn, to adapt, and get control over this invisible force that dictated his existence.
More than anything, he was tired of living in fear of the things he could not see or fully understand. The wolf inside of him was real, he knew that now, but he could not ignore it any longer.
Annalette looked to him, her gaze full of sympathy. “I cannot teach you everything, John. Only an alpha can show you how to control your wolf.”
“Then lead me to an alpha. Where is the one who trained your uncle?”
She shook her head. “I do not know where he is now. We met him in Scotland, but he was from another country, and that was years ago.”
John pounded his fist into the ground, forming a crater around his knuckles. “Then take me to your uncle, damn it!” he bellowed. “I have to learn.”
A smile crept over her lips, but he could not read the emotion behind it. Haughty? Victorious? Is this what she wanted from the beginning? For him to grovel and beg for the answers? Whatever it was, he had given it to her and John couldn’t fight the roiling anger that she would behave so despicably. It was not becoming of a beautiful woman, Romani or not.
When she didn’t reply, he stood and stormed away towards the direction of the village. If she was going to play the tease, then he would too.
“Where are you going?” she called to him.
“Back to the bakery,” he replied. “If the baker knows so much, then I will learn from him. He would be of more use than you.”
She let out a sound of protest, and he heard her give chase. “You promised to help me.”
“That was when you said you would tell me more about what I was. Now, you won’t tell me what I need to know, and I don’t have to hold up my end of the bargain.”
John knew he could escape faster than this, but he allowed the gypsy to catch up and come to his side. He noticed that her pack was still back where she left it by the river.
“But, what about my brother?” she complained, true panic discharging from her like an aromatic perfume. His ruse was working, and this time, he would see her beg.
“You’re a strong woman. You can find another way to get him out or prison, I’m sure.”
Annalette skipped in front of John and slammed her hand against his chest to stop him in his tracks. “I need your help, John. If you help my brother escape, then we will try to find you an alpha.”
John looked down at her fingers spread across his chest, the tips just barely touching his bare skin around the edge of his tunic collar. Tiny rain droplets began to fall, pattering against the leaves of the canopy above them.
The rain was not the only thing in the air. He could smell Annalette’s worry, even if it weren't written in her wide, dark eyes. He was tired of her games and almost regretted saving her from the vagrants who were ready to make her submit to their needs. If he had let her go and minded his own business, he would have lived another hundred years in blissful ignorance. He would have known nothing of loups-garous and accepted his lot in life as a demon-possessed bastard with no future and nothing but a miserable past.
Instead, a discontent was slowly building. She had let him peek behind a door that led to a new world of which he could not take part. It was a cruel torture as she still taunted him with the keys to that door, bartering for the right to learn what he should have known all along. She was no longer an aide. She stood in his way to gaining control of his humanity.
Then again, her company had worked a miracle in him that he never thought was possible. Staring down at her lovely face, he felt his spirit awaken. No, he couldn’t regret saving her, but he did regret feeling this way about her. No woman should have had such control over a man.
“You’re not only going to help me find an alpha, but you’re going to tell me the truth.” He waited for her to quietly question him before continuing. “What is it that you have been hiding from me? It has nothing to do with loups-garous or your brother. I could tell you were lying when you talked about your family.”
Annalette slowly lowered her hand and took a step away from him as the rain began to pour down, drenching them both.
A silence stretched between them, seeming to last for an eternity as her mystic eyes fixed on his. He would not give an inch or let her run. She wasn’t the only one who had the power to make their prey yield to their demands.
“My family knows that I’ve gone to find Gallius, but they may not be so concerned about my return.”
John lowered his brows. “Explain.”
Annalette took a deep breath. “The life of a Romani woman revolves around her family. She is expected to be a good wife and mother but, I am well past marrying age.”
John shrugged. “So, you may never marry. There is no crime in that.”
She pressed her palm to her forehead and closed her eyes. “No, it’s not a crime, but I’ve become a burden to my family. When a Romani woman marries, the husband is to pay her family a sum of money to compensate for her upbringing. My father has never been compensated, and along with my brother and his fam
ily, they have to take care of me as well. I can never leave them.”
“So, you’ve become a burden to your family,” he said, his voice softening.
Annalette only nodded and lowered her hand to her hip. She would not look him in the eye, probably out of shame for her spinster status, but John would not judge her because he knew exactly how she felt.
As a boy, he had heard the bitter whispers from his mother. She didn’t know he had been listening behind the cracked doors when she complained that her wages were going to feed him and clothe him, a child she never wanted, a child that brought misfortune upon her and ruined her chances for a happy life.
“As a child,” she explained, “I was always running off and breaking the traditions of our people. A bride is chosen based on her character. No family wanted a wild and unruly woman for their son. Then, I spent so much time with my uncle that I had no time for marriage or suitors. I was past the marrying age when he was cast out from our vitsa, and the fee that my father set for my hand was far too great for any family who was willing to take me.”
She finally looked to him with despondent eyes. “I may never marry; therefore, I will never fulfill my role as a Romani woman.”
It wasn’t a foreign concept. It was nothing new that a spinster or husband-less peasant was not looked upon favorably by English society. Even his own mother was considered damaged goods and always the last choice for any man looking to take a wife.
“Will you return to your family when you’ve rescued your brother?”
When she spoke, he could hear the distinct resentment laced in her words. She was not pleased with her place in her clan, but there was still a resignation there as if she had accepted it long ago and there was little that could be done.
She shrugged her slender shoulders. “I have nowhere else to go. The Romani are not welcome in many places. I could return to Scotland, but then what would I do? No. I must return to my family. One day, perhaps I will find a husband.”
They were brave words for one who knew there was an unlikely chance for happiness in her future. He admired that courage, that strength of will, but at the same time, he could still sense her brokenness and longing beneath the tough veneer.
Whatever drove him to speak, whether it was the look in her eyes or the way her tragic story moved him so, John knew that it was only fair to share some of his own misfortune. Perhaps in admitting his own unworthiness, he could let her know that she was not alone.
“My mother never married either,” he said. “At least, I don’t know if she ever did. I told you before that my father was not involved in my life and that was true. My mother was taken against her will by a man that she didn’t know. When she told her father, he went after the cad to force him to marry my mother. He never came back. They found his body torn to pieces by a wild animal three days later.”
Annalette crossed her arms over her chest. “He must have been a loup-garou.”
John nodded, knowing that it all made perfect sense now. “With my grandmother a widow and my mother heavy with child, they went to Shrewsbury in search of work. They were farmers by trade, but my mother knew how to spin wool. They found jobs at a manor. My grandmother washed clothes, and my mother did the only thing she knew how. As I grew up, I also became a servant at the manor. Not a day went by when I wasn’t reminded that I had no father and I was the reason my family suffered.”
“You were not the reason. Your father was the one who raped your mother.”
Her words were less than gentle as if the truth had to be pounded into his head, but John could not undo years of self-loathing in the time it took her to utter that one sentence.
“I believed it was because I was a bastard that the demon chose to possess me. I was already unworthy in the eyes of God by my unholy conception. It only made sense that I should be cursed for bringing misery upon my family.”
“But, you did not sin, John,” she pleaded. “You did nothing but live.”
He gave her a hard look. “And you have done nothing but live your own life how you choose, and you are being punished by thinking you are a burden as well.” He would return fire with fire.
Annalette blinked, but if she accepted his words, he could not tell. A curtain had been drawn once more, but John would not let them be separated so easily. They were from different walks of life, but in this, they had found common ground. If they could just build upon that ground, then the capacity to trust one another would soon follow. John was aching to trust another person again, even if it was a Romani.
John watched her as the rain continued to pummel down. In an act of compassion, he slipped off the coat he had stolen and draped it over her, letting the thick wool block out the rain. She gripped the edge of the fabric and held it in place like a shield against the forces of nature while he continued to get soaked. He was used to being without such protection against the elements.
What he wasn’t used to was the warmth that grew in his gut. He pitied the gypsy, who was alone in the world for the time. To be so out of reach from her role as a Romani and a daughter to a Romani family, Annalette must have felt the weight of loneliness descend on her, whether she would admit it or not.
Incongruous with their previous conversation, she cracked a mirthless smile.
“What is it?” he asked.
She held up the fabric of the long cloak. “This. Romani don’t wear such garments. It does not honor the distinction between the body halves. It is unclean.” She rolled her eyes. “I would be marime to even touch this.”
There were multiple facets to their traditions and cultures. It would take a lifetime for John to learn everything, but he was at least willing to listen, whether he understood it or not. “Perhaps you should take this time to break a few of your marime rules. I won’t tell.”
His words came out more suggestive than he anticipated, but it elicited a giggle from Annalette, and that made it all worth it.
Chapter 5
With every yard they traveled down the path toward Canterbury, Annalette could hear her voice of conscience screaming at her that her plan had taken a sour turn. She hadn’t planned on telling John so much about her past. She should have lied and told him that she had a husband and children waiting for her in Dover while her family attended her uncle. She should have said that her life was the closest thing to perfect.
Everything about John had stolen away her common sense. It took every ounce of willpower she had to keep her mind focused on the mission they had set out to do. Yet when he looked into her eyes, so full of that inexplicable alpha dominance that could demand the moon and stars to bow at his feet if that’s what he wanted, Annalette could not lie to him about her family again.
They had walked in silence for nearly half a mile, and Annalette couldn’t help but feel uneasy in the quiet. She gazed out over the River Stour, watching the ripples of the murky water as it flowed downstream. It was not a better sight when compared to John’s handsome, clean shaven face, but it was far safer.
The rain continued to fall, but its force had lessened significantly from a few hours before when they left Chilham. The river was anything but calm as the raindrops peppered its surface. A family of ducks swam to the shore where the mother led her babies to the shelter of the thicket.
The river reminded her of a time in her childhood when playing games with the other boys wasn’t some terrible transgression. Back then, they could wrestle and tease one another without risk of pollution by each other’s touch.
Annalette remembered the exact day when all of this changed, and her best childhood friends could no longer tussle with her outside of camp. Just one touch to her skirt and they would be unclean. They would be marime. It was not as appalling a crime as being a loup-garou, but it was enough to ruin one’s day.
That was also the day that her father began to advertise her worth as a potential daughter-in-law to the other families with whom they traveled. None would have anything to do with her wildness. Now it was too late, and
she would never know the intimacy of a man unless she stepped outside of the traditions of her people.
She desperately wanted to heed John’s advice and push aside the purity laws for just a few days while they rescued her brother. It would be far easier on her soul if she did. It’d be like the old days when she could run free without the eyes of the vitsa watching her like a hawk, waiting for her to make one more mistake.
John suddenly stopped and his gaze lowered to the grass. His nostrils flared, and Annalette wondered if the wolf was letting him know that tonight would be his night to shift. She recognized that disturbed, concentrated look.
“What is it?” she asked.
John’s head lifted and swiveled to the north as he looked across the river. He grabbed her hand and pulled her none to gently into the forest. Trusting him completely, she followed and did not ask another question.
They ducked behind an oak tree, whose girth was wide enough for them to stand behind and not be seen by whoever John sensed coming, but they could not stand side by side. Instead, John had positioned her with her back pressed against the rough bark of the tree, and he stood in front of her. He was so achingly close that she could smell his warm, masculine scent. It made her slightly dizzy to know that she only had to reach out and she could touch his chest like she did earlier when she tried to stop him from abandoning her in the wilderness.
She turned her head away to reject the temptation and listened. She heard nothing, but that didn’t mean a great deal. If John could hear it, then there was certainly someone there.
“Who?” she whispered.
“A wood reeve,” he replied with his eyes fixed toward the river. “He’s patrolling across the river.”
Annalette nodded slowly. She knew the wood reeves well. They had been the bane to the Romani ever since they came to this country. The constables were responsible for their own jurisdictions, but these wood reeves were the watchers of the forest. If they found a beggar, a Romani camp, or even a corpse, they were the first to report back to the nearest village. In Scotland, they weren’t so much of a problem, but England was rife with prejudice against the Romani and the wood reeves were not to be taken lightly.
The Legend (A Legacies Series Novella) (The Legacies Series Book 1) Page 5